The young, female bagger, walked me out. I didn’t want the help, but she seemed determined. Not to be conceited, but I get this fairly often. Honestly, I’m not that good looking, but they fall all over themselves. I gave her a tip, which I’m not really supposed to do, and thanked her. Then again, I considered, maybe they see me out, because I always tip? I saw the girl turn around and wiggle her fingers at me. Nope. Wasn’t the tip. Shaking my head, I headed home.
An unfamiliar car was in my driveway. There was no one in it, so I approached the house carefully. Once in the garage, I let the door close before I got out, and gathered up my groceries, going into the house. I opened the door to find a man in my kitchen. One I didn’t know. He wasn’t quite naked, dressed in baggy boxers, and he had the look of a man who’d been busy. In the getting-to-know-you sense of the word. Shocked, I set my bags on the counter and waited for an explanation.
“Hi,” he said, helping himself to my fresh squeezed orange juice.
I didn’t say anything, simply stared as he guzzled it down right out of the hand blown, glass carafe. Arms crossed, I glared at him. He finally got the hint that I didn’t know him, like him, or want him in my home. Still puzzling over his presence, I didn’t make a move. I can out-wait damn near anyone. With seven older sisters, I rarely got a word in, so I learned to wait my turn. Generally, I didn’t have to ask questions, sooner or later one of them would tell me whatever I wanted to know. I continued to glare and not talk.
“Um….”
I took in details. Not nearly as tall as me, he was pretty jacked. His teeth were straight and white, his dark brown hair in some stupid metro-sexual cut that made him look like a confused penguin.
“Um…. Honey?” he called, not taking his eyes off me. “Babe!”
He started backing away, as I started advancing.
“It’s cool, man. Totally cool. It’s um….” He tripped over an area rug, nearly falling on his ass. Since he was still holding my glass carafe, I grabbed his arm. I could give a shit about him, but I didn’t want the glass to break.
“Hon! Baby!” he kept calling as he tried to get his balance.
“What?” a familiar voice shouted from upstairs.
“Charlotte?” I nearly dropped him, flinging his arm aside as I rushed toward the steps. “What the f**k? Who’s the naked guy?”
“Not naked,” he burbled, holding his index fingers out, pointing at my ceiling.
My angry glare shut him up. He tried to drink his juice, but dribbled. I took the carafe from him, putting it on a table behind the couch. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
Chica trotted down the steps. She wasn’t naked either, quite. Wearing less than I cared to see her in, or not in, as it the case may be, I switched my glare to her.
“What are you doing here?”
“Having some fun.”
“In my house? Why?”
“You weren’t here, so we let ourselves in.”
I suppose I don’t have to mention that my mother and sisters all have keys to my house. I didn’t want them to, they simply did it.
“And?”
“You didn’t come home, we got bored.”
“Please tell me it wasn’t my bed.”
“Ew, no! But we did borrow some supplies. We went in the guest room. Sheesh, calm thyself, Keir.”
“Who’s the naked guy?” I tipped my head at him.
“Again, not naked.”
Another glare shut him up, I hoped for a long time. Chica pulled on a tee shirt and trotted down the stairs, going on tip-toe to kiss my cheek. Arms wound around her fella and she kissed him, too. He took the opportunity to feel her up. I pointedly cleared my throat. His baggy boxers formed a tent and I had a good idea just how happy he was to see my sister.
“Pants,” I commanded, pointing.
“Chill, dude. Jesus!”
I put my arm out, stopping him. “You f**ked my sister in my home. You’re nearly naked in my kitchen, don’t introduce yourself, drink my juice, and you have the balls to tell me to chill?” I was tempted to trip him.
“That’s Randy,” Chica said as he headed for the stairs.
“He certainly is.”
“Stop. He’s really nice. You’ll like him.”
“No, I won’t. I hate him already.”
“Why not?”
“Because, no decent man f**ks another man’s sister in his house, without being introduced. I’m sure there’s a law about that somewhere.”
“Whine, whine, whine.” She picked up the carafe, drained the juice, and sashayed into the kitchen. Chica never simply walks.
©2021 Dellani Oakes
Dellani Oakes 